de solibus insolitis

walpurgisnacht

Sun, 01 May 2005 06:10:57 GMT

dans les bruyeres,
dans les roseaux,
parmi les pierres,
et sur les eaux,
de place en place,
percant la nuit,
s'allume et passe
un feu qui luit!
alerte! alerte!
de loin, de pres,
dans l'herbe verte,
sous les cypres.
mouvantes flammes,
rayons glaces,
ce sont les ames
des trespasses!

-charles gounod, faust, act v

Gute Walpurgisnacht!

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 14:39:49 GMT

Greek alphabet cookies for Archaic Texts. See also: Mimosas, Pancakes and.

early morning musings on the silly statue

Wed, 16 Feb 2005 10:33:49 GMT

This strange panoply of creatures, though I tend to think of it as one, lives on 112th street & Amsterdam, beside the great cathedral of St. John the Divine. Its given name is the Peace Fountain (Greg Wyatt, 1985), but I have referred to it since I was very young as the Silly Statue. It is one of the two sculptures (both fountains, in fact) in Manhattan of which I am enamoured and at the same time quite terrified.

I must first have seen the Statue in the third or fourth year of my life, for my mother used to take me to the cathedral gardens after nursery school. Peacocks (and peahens, perhaps, but I don't recall) roamed the grounds. It is still one of the most beautiful places that I know.

The Statue resides in a smaller garden of its own, casting shadows on the ivy and the children that surround it. Truly, you must stand before the beast to appreciate how massive it is, all wings, claws, and moonlike faces. The archangel Michael rides triumphant, a giraffe jumps over the moon (or is it the sun?)

...

Fri, 11 Feb 2005 05:36:01 GMT

This has been bothering me for months: why do the toilet paper dispensers here bear the insignia of the hand of eris?

(click detail for full photograph.)

Sat, 20 Nov 2004 16:07:35 GMT

This afternoon on the corner of Amsterdam a woman stood in the doorway of a salon to admonish a child. The sun had not yet set, but its light was veiled by thin clouds the colour of white alpaca wool. The street was neither crowded nor devoid of traffic.

* * *

When I left the building, it was not yet quarter to four. I glanced down and saw dry leaves on the pavement-- birds sing in the ornamental pear trees, but the oaks are dying-- and was reminded of my walk to the doctor's office four days previous. It had been a Monday, two days after I had been dismissed from school for lack of glucose in my blood. I had felt betrayed, not so much by my body as by the nurses who snidely (I thought) supposed that my illness was psychiatric. On this Monday, however, I walked the familiar streets in brown corduroy and my mother's shoes. I felt distinctly more normal than I had for quite some time. I could be anyone's neighbor.

Minutes later, sitting in a leather chair across from the psychiatrist, my sense of anonymity would have all but vanished.

Thus remembering I walked, but now my heart was changed, as had everything changed. Further bloodwork had revealed Lyme the cause of my fatigue; antibiotics, not antipsychotics, would be my prescription. My joints ached in relief. No more did visions haunt my sleep. I would be back in Poughkeepsie by Saturday; there was an internist there who would treat me. I could pass the week off, in my mind, as a dream. All that we see... within a dream...

I crossed the street as the light turned green. As I ran, I caught a glimpse of a child of six or seven moving in the opposite direction.

* * *

Requiescat in pace.

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 04:51:55 GMT

μέν The Qara periodically accuses me, and rightly so, of hoarding things. I save hair clippings, broken glass, wrapping paper, metro cards, and the fortunes from Chinese cookies. I write down the sums of meaningless strings of numbers -- my student ID number adds to 53=5+3=8. My hard drive is cluttered with documents containing the meanest of correspondences and transcripts. I am virtually incapable of throwing away letters.

δέ Hoarding, nevertheless, sometimes pays off. Provided that I can find a given object or collection thereof amidst the disarrangement of things, I am seldom at loss for forgotten information or material for collage. I have been saving interesting spam (not the nigerian scams and viagra ads, but this sort) for quite a while in vague plans of assembling something along the lines of a dadaist poem or word-collage. Here, at last, is something constructive that one can do with spam.

an old dream, remembered

Sat, 25 Sep 2004 01:24:43 GMT

Facilis descensus Averno:
Noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis;
Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, hic labor est.
-Vergil
In my dream I was walking home in the dead of the night and I couldn't for the life of me find a (1) or (9) train; the streets were ever more narrow and dark. At last, I read (7) on a station entrance and thought it was a decent prospect. I descended easily. The station was empty but for myself, a decrepit old token vendor, and a toothless woman who appeared to be collecting fare (the turnstiles had apparently been broken for a long time). The lights flickered. I showed the Collector my metro card, then, realizing its uselessness, fished lamely in my pockets for coins. The Collector shook her head and smiled with her gums, pulling me through. The whites of her eyes unnerved me. Presently, I found myself in a strange sort of amphitheatre, standing amidst thousands of dark figures. The eyes of the figures were fixed like those of zombies at the central stage, a vast, dim space bisected by a railroad track, which disappeared on either side of the stage into a black tunnel. I remember my heart pounding in my chest. Nevertheless, I sat down and asked the closest figure, when will the next train come? I knew that something was terribly wrong, of course, but I feigned nonchalance as best I could, in vain hope that such farce could save me. Faces turned immediately in answer. Clearly, I did not belong; like the woman in a certain ghost story who, having risen too early for church on Sunday morning, finds herself at the Mass of the Dead, I had seen something not meant for mortal eyes. Now my feet flew down the steps, towards the grand stage, but in vain. The Lady of the place came forth, enraged, and disposed of me. Now I shifted perspctives. Even as my own body was dragged up the stairs, my eyes did not move. The end was dizzying. The Lady reigned over the theatre-fortress, and by her Will there rose a landscape of surreality and horror. Her subjects, the stairs, the very walls themselves, gave way to distortion. By the next dawn, I was a person of shadow.

Tue, 21 Sep 2004 05:01:59 GMT

Later, en route to the library, I saw a quadruped lurking in the hedges by Rockefeller which I identified as either a small dog or quite a large cat. The shape was ambiguous. Curious, I walked closer and found a stocky white spotted cat, apparently well fed and groomed. She was wearing a collar of the sort I have only seen around dogs' necks, and was similarly friendly. I let her sniff my hand a few times, kneeling before her; she placed her paws heavily upon my legs and snuggled into the fabric of my cloak. As the cat strolled off on the main path, I couldn't help but think that I had met Aslan.

Sun, 19 Sep 2004 18:25:06 GMT

שנה טובה

I've been meaning to come back to these pages, but time after time I question the profit and validity of keeping a public log. When I made my first entry, nearly a year ago, I did not anticipate sharing anything of particular personal depth or importance with the world. The writing was more of a distraction from, than a reflection of, my personal and emotional life. Perhaps I never got past that initial frivolity. Certainly, the majority of my entries are disappointing to me, just as was I a disappointment to myself this past year.

Last Spring, I began to transcribe obsessively— as is my custom— the events around my fall. Some of these I posted here; most of the notes I have kept to myself. The information that I did share, I later regretted. I received some anonymous emails in March concerning certain information. I took a leave of absence from my school, and returned for the final weeks of the semester. Shortly after my return, I discontinued the use of my public journal for mostly unrelated reasons.

This week I have attended services and performed tashlich. I continue to reflect upon the importance of memory as well as my hopes for the year ahead. In the spirit of preserving memory, I plan to use these pages to record pieces of my selves. Frivolity is inevitable, admittedly desireable at times, but I shall keep it to a minimum. As for the publicity, I justify my choice of medium in that, in all other aspects of my life, I am abnormally reclusive. If other people wish to read these words, than they may do so anonymously. If not, than I may feel nevertheless that I am taking a few steps out of hiding.

Sat, 01 May 2004 07:13:33 GMT

This afternoon, walking to Strong from the ACDC, I came upon the dead body of a squirrel under a pine tree. I must have seen the squirrel a few seconds before I realized that it was dead. Caught off guard, my first reaction was one of horror; I started at the sudden sight and hurried away towards the main road. But then I thought, what is there about this scene that is so horrifying to me? For death itself not strange or unnatural, but the most natural of things.

The equation of death and horror comes, I think, from the fear of one's own mortality. If my revulsion was thus born, then it was time I should learn to face it. So I turned back and, standing over the corpse, compelled myself to look at it more carefully. Aside from its being dead, the animal looked quite well. Its grey fur was glossy, its front white and full. It lay strangely still on its side. Upon closer inspection, I saw that its feet were oddly curled, and insects swarmed variously over its back. The eyes were rotted or eaten away in their sockets, leading me to believe that the corpse was at least a day old. There was no blood that I could see, no obvious wound. I supposed the squirrel had fallen from its tree. I said a few words, told these my thoughts to the corpse, and left in peace.

Wed, 28 Apr 2004 05:04:26 GMT

In my own experience, the period of greatest gain in knowledge and experience is the most difficult period in one's life. ...Through a difficult period, you can learn, you can develop inner strength, determination, and courage to face the problem. Who gives you this chance? Your enemy.

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama

dream

Mon, 19 Apr 2004 19:53:21 GMT

I was a frail young man.

I was lying in my own bed in Connecticut, talking to the half-crazed killer who stood at my feet. "No," said the killer, "I don't intend to kill your mother."

"Then she’s alive!” I cried, raising myself in relief on weak arms. "Unless..." He leered at me. "You've already killed her..."

He said that he was going to show me; he placed my mother's mangled legs across my own. I was too weak to move myself under the weight of the dead limbs.

And then the killer handed me a blunt ax and an ice pick and told me to strike him, and he stood with his back facing me. I said that I could not possibly strike him with so blunt a blade. Nevertheless, he urged me to stand up and try.

The axe was quite heavy. The first time I hit him, I didn’t cut the cloth of his shirt. I struck repeatedly with all my strength, exposing the spinal cord just below his neck. It was the most hateful act I would ever perform. Still, the killer urged me on.

Then suddenly he could bear it no more, and he cried “stop!”

In my fury I hacked at him until he fell to the ground, not yet dead. I left him there with my sister, who was inexplicably by my side, and went to find help.

I called 911 from the kitchen. The voice on the phone was a recording, and it segued into an onslaught of ads. By the time I gave up on the police and returned to my room, the killer had vanished, and my sister was standing dumbly by my bed.

rite deam colitis...

Fri, 16 Apr 2004 18:50:08 GMT

I am working on a literary translation of Ovid's Fasti, Book IV (lines 133-164). Nothing fantastic, yet, but I'm trying to capture something of the metre, anaphora, etc... I'm pretty much satisfied with the first eight lines.

C KAL F

Duly you honor her rites, Latian mothers and maidens as well
   As you who wear not headbands and the long dress.¹
Remove the golden necklace from her marble neck,
   Remove the riches: the goddess must all be bathed.
Return the golden necklace to her drièd neck
   Now different flowers, now a new rose must be placed.
You, too, she herself bids bathe beneath the green myrtle:
   And the reason for this, learn, thus certainly is based.
Naked on the shore, she was drying her dripping hair:
   She was seen, the goddess, by a brazen mob of satyrs.
She sensed them and shielded her bare body with myrtle:
   She by this act was saved, so she tells you to repeat.
Now learn wherefore you offer incense to Fortuna Virilis²
   On that account, in a place wet with icy water.³
Here every woman with clothes stripped away is received
   And this place views each flaw of the naked bodies;
She conceals the bodies’ flaws from men, Fortuna Virilis,
   And she grants wishes, offered a little incense.
Let it not pain you, eating the poppy ground in snow-white milk
   And the honey that flows from pressed honeycombs:
When first Venus was led to her lustful husband’s bed
   She drank this; from that time, she was his wife.⁴
Supplicate her with prayerful words: with her favor
   Beauty, good nature, and good renown all endure.
Rome once fell from chastity in our forebears’ time,⁵
   You, ancient ones, consulted the Cumaean crone.⁶
She orders shrines made to Venus: accordingly they were made
   Thereafter Venus holds a new name, her heart changed.⁷
Look ever kindly upon the Aeneadae, most beautiful one,
   And protect, goddess, your many brides.

Whilst I speak, with the fearsome sting of that raised tail
Scorpios dives headfirst into green waters.⁸

1. The upper class women of Rome wore the vestis longa (full dress including the long stola) and vittae, headbands, as marks of their respectability. Ovid's dual address to the respectable women and to their lower class counterparts can be seen either as integrative, or as subordinating the rites of those women without respectable status.
3. gelida qui locus umet aqua; the men's public baths. The rites of Fortuna Virilis, according to Fantham, were performed by "those whose livelihood depended on appealing to men."
4. A sedative for new brides with cupidus husbands. The draught has ritual significance as well as practical.
5. Ovid refers to the incest commited by three Vestals in 114 BCE.
6. The ancient sibyl at Cumae, or "the prophecies ascribed her" (Fantham).
7. suggests Venus Verticordia, "heart-changer" or "changer of hearts." Whether Venus is the changer or the changed is left ambiguous.
8. The setting of the constellation Scorpius.

return to manhattan

Mon, 08 Mar 2004 11:06:50 GMT

It has been a while. My apologies for the commentary neglect, but I needed time off for my work. My last week before break was quite stressful, and it is a relief to be back in the city. Regretfully, I never found a camera to photograph the new decorations in my dorm room, and words are insufficient. Suffice it to say, I learned that Jesus can be a verb.

I left Poughkeepsie on Friday afternoon, and returned to the empty apartment. Before I stepped past the foyer, I leashed my dog and took her to Riverside Park, where it was lovely and dim. There were boats on the water. A horde of high school kids smoked around a park bench, and I felt a bit older. Back upstairs, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I opened my eyes at last, the (analogue) alarm clock read 6:20. I was surprised to have awaken so early of my own accord, but I got out of bed and spent a good hour on the computer before I noticed that there was no light coming in under the window curtains. I pushed them aside, and found that the sky was overcast. Then I looked out the East window and found the moon.

Since then, my sleep schedule has been roughly 12 hours off.

to arms!

Tue, 02 Mar 2004 02:05:07 GMT

Oh dear... I'm afraid I've started a holy war. I need a camera so that I can share the madness with you. Must run. More later.

Sat, 28 Feb 2004 02:58:02 GMT

"The people hate the lizards and the lizards rule the people."
"Odd," said Arthur, "I thought you said it was a democracy."
"I did," said Ford, "it is."
"So," said Arthur, hoping he wasn't sounding ridiculously obtuse, "why don't the people get rid of the lizards?"
"It honestly doesn't occur to them. They've all got the vote, so they all pretty much assume that the government they've voted in more or less approximates the government they want."
"You mean they actually vote for the lizards."
"Oh yes," said Ford with a shrug, "of course."
"But," said Arthur, going for the big one again, "why?"
"Because if they didn't vote for a lizard, then the wrong lizard might get in."

—Douglas Adams, So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish

colorbar - kids' book

Tue, 24 Feb 2004 07:34:41 GMT

Everybody is different.

<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/51542.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/kidsbookcolorbar.jpg" width=400 height=50 border="0" alt="no two people are not on fire" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/51542.html">Everybody is different.</a> </div>

So good, or no good?

your heart right in the sight of god

Mon, 23 Feb 2004 17:25:07 GMT

A joyous 23rd to you all. I feel quite alone, at present. What are you thinking of today?

Some things wonderful to behold.

colorbars - mythos

Fri, 20 Feb 2004 02:42:58 GMT

More banners/ colorbars.

(This is a work in progress... it's gonna be a series!)

Lovecraft is my love.

Cthulhu is love.

Tentacles are love.

For the love of Azathoth.

I support Non-Euclidean Love.

Tentacle monsters are love.

I dig her batrachian lips.

[insert your caption here!]

Code the First:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/cthulhulovememe.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">Lovecraft is my love.</a> </div>

Code the Second:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/bluecthulhu.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">Cthulhu is love.</a> </div>

Code the Third:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/tentaclesoflove.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">Tentacles are love.</a> </div>

Code the Fourth:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/cthulhusquidbanner.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">For the love of Azathoth.</a> </div>

Code the Fifth:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/cthulhuloveinblack.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">I support Non-Euclidean love.</a> </div>

Code the Sixth:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/lavinny.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">Insert your caption here!.</a> </div>

Code the Seventh:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/cthulhubluegreen.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">I dig her batrachian lips.</a> </div>

Code the Eighth:
<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/cthulhulove.jpg" border="0" alt="ia! ia!" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49676.html">[insert your caption here.]</a> </div>

Post and comment to let me know. As always, feel free to remove and/or insert your own evil captions and alts.

Created with The GIMP.

colorbar - uncle al

Thu, 19 Feb 2004 07:13:21 GMT

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Love is the Law.

Love under Will.

<div style="text-align:center"><br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49358.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/crowleyrainbow.jpg" border="0" alt="93" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/49358.html">Love is the Law.</a> </div>

If it is your Will, paste the above code into your journal or elsewhere and leave a comment.

colorbar - slack

Wed, 18 Feb 2004 22:10:21 GMT

Bob says:

Slack is love.

<div style="text-align:center">Bob says:<br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/48673.html"><img src="http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-1/590066/subgenius.jpg" border="0" alt="dobbsheads" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/48673.html">Slack is love.</a> </div>

Paste the above code into your journal to show your support for Slack! And leave a comment to let me know.

Hail Bob. Hail Eris. Hail Yes.

Free like speech!

Wed, 18 Feb 2004 01:54:46 GMT

I <3 my mandrake box...

Alternative Lifestyle. Alternative OS.

Linux is love.

The code:
<div style="text-align:center">Alternative Lifestyle. Alternative OS. <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/45719.html"><img src="http://stat.livejournal.com/img/misc/meme-linuxlove.png" border="0" alt="Linux Distro Logos" /></a> <br /> <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/polyopia/45719.html">Linux is love.</a> </div>

Copy and paste the above code into your journal and leave a comment to show your support for diversity of distro!

Update: Thanks to oopsz and adcott for their improvements & more compatible html. Also, much thanks to brad for hosting it on Livejournal.com!

Several of you have been asking about Slack. Unfortunately, Dobbsheads just don't look good smaller than 50 pixels, so I've made this:

Bob says:

Slack is love.

Created with The GIMP, of course.

Tue, 17 Feb 2004 04:53:10 GMT

Student fellow group birthday party-- my roommate's birthday, actually, so I couldn't politely abstain. I am uncomfortable with these people, knowing that they condemn me, and I prefer not to socialize in general. I am painfully conscious of their youth, or my own delusions of wise disillusion. Conversation is meaningless, but that I have learned to stand.

I cannot stand the flavour of supermarket cake. Nor anything so saccharine, when it ought to taste like defeat.

lupercalia

Sun, 15 Feb 2004 16:45:10 GMT

Iam tum in Palatio monte Lupercal hoc fuisse ludicrum ferunt et a Pallanteo, urbe Arcadica, Pallantium, dein Palatium montem appellatum. Ibi Euandrum, qui ex eo genere Arcadum multis ante tempestatibus tenuerit loca, sollemne allatum ex Arcadia instituisse, ut nudi iuvenes Lycaeum Pana venerantes per lusum atque lasciviam currerent, quem Romani deinde vocaverunt Inuum.
-- Livy (Ab Urbe Condita 1.1.5)

The Lupercal (February 15th) was an ancient festival of purification held in honor of the god Lupercus, identified with Inuus/Faunus and Pan. According to Livy, the Lupercal was first brought to Italy from Arcadia by Evander. It was celebrated on the Palatine hill.

The ceremonies were directed by priests called Luperci. The flamen Dialis (a special priest of Iupiter) sacrificed a dog and two male goats and anointed two youths with the goat blood. Immediately after, the blood was wiped off with wool dipped in milk; at this, the youths broke into laughter. After the sacrificial feast, the Luperci cut the skins of the sacrificed goats into pieces; some of the skin they wore, and the rest they cut into thongs. The Luperci ran about the hill with the thongs (called februa), lashing the women. This practice was believed to insure fertility, as well as to purify the land.

February is derived from the Latin februare, "to purify."

city on fire

Tue, 10 Feb 2004 06:52:23 GMT

From lady_babalon:

http://www.ericblumrich.com/pl_lo.html

What is there about humanity that's worth fighting for?